Exotic
by LunaEquus
Summary: See the world through Emily's eyes. Implied love triangle.


**Disclaimer: Libba Bray owns characters. **

**Emily's POV **

All my life, I'd been a simple girl. Not much was ever expected of me, but that was okay. I wasn't stunningly pretty, well-read, or by any means wealthy. I didn't even have an interesting name. Emily. Boring, English Emily.

When I was a child, I'd make nosegays to sell at Paddington Station with my best friend Emma. Emma and Emily. That is how we first became friends – because we shared such similar names.

We'd see a lot of different people running in and out of that station, most of them passing us by without so much as a glance. It was always the English people that never paid us any attention, sometimes even shoving us out of the way to catch a late train or grab a hansom cab. I grew to dislike such people, the men with their blunt walking sticks and the ladies with their beautiful clothing and parasols. They were of a world I'd never know firsthand. After all, I'd never amount to anything more than a maid, but that was expected of me. So it was okay.

For years I'd spend my days at Paddington with Emma, until one day when we were 11 years old. She was taken away, sold by her parents to a brothel. But I didn't know that then. I know that now and it stings to know of my best friend's fate.

I was lucky enough to secure a position as a maid for the respectable Mrs. William Doyle. She would tell me stories of her granddaughter, a girl of my own age. She lived in India, this girl, in a place called Bombay. Sometimes, I'd be read letters from this girl and her parents. She had a brother too.

For the first time in my life, I had something to dream about. I'd imagine myself in India, with this girl as my best friend. We'd go exploring together, wear saris, and ride elephants. During the day we'd be proper little girls and tour the marketplaces while admiring the fine silks for sale. Maybe we'd even play with a hurdy-gurdy man's pet monkey! But by night, we'd hunt tigers and tame cobras. And all the while, we'd be the best of friends, this girl and I.

My love for this imaginary friend of a girl I had never met was so that every time a letter would come from India, I'd pray her family was to come to London. Or perhaps, even better, we would go visit them in Bombay! It seems to be a much nicer place than London, where the weather and the people are cold.

Eventually, they did come to England, but under unfortunate circumstances. With the death of her mother hanging over her head, she was a ghost of a girl. I tried to be friendly, but she never warmed up to me. I was a little hurt, because we had been so close in my fantasies, but I knew that she was upset, and therefore not herself. She went off to boarding school, and once again I looked forward to her return. Perhaps she'd be happier then and we could be friends!

Christmas time rolled around, and with it came a new addition to the serving staff. He came from India, the country I secretly longed to visit. I couldn't help but long for him as well. He was everything foreign to me, everything different from those cold English people that hurt my friend and me. He was…exotic.

I had never felt this way before. Never felt my heart race the way it did when I looked at him. He was a lean and strong and exceptionally crafted specimen of a man. Thick black curls, warm brown skin, and the largest, sweetest eyes I have ever seen on a male. And he was so very kind, with a secretive smile that made me want to explore him like I wanted to explore India with my mistress' granddaughter. But no, I wanted to go on this expedition by myself.

I looked forward to bringing him his meals, for the chance of a bit of conversation with him. He seemed so worldly and intelligent and kind. He even agreed to teach me how to read, though it was more of a ruse on my part to spend time with him than a genuine interest in learning. Being around him both excited and disappointed me. Just his presence alone had me giddy and girlish, but he never showed any interest in me. He was kind, yes, but sometimes he'd be distant, as if he was thinking of someone else.

And then she came back from boarding school. He seemed so happy that she was back, and they warmed up to each other instantly, as if they had known each other before. I know they both came from Bombay, so perhaps they knew each other and were friends. But to follow one across the ocean to work as their servant was very extreme, even if they were good friends.

My hopes of ever becoming friends with her were dashed the moment I saw them together. I could never forgive her, as childish as it seems, for stealing away my chances with him. I continued to spend time with him, listening to him read, and sometimes having a small conversation about the most random of things. He would never reveal anything about himself, and that bothered me. She seemed to know him so well; I felt as if I was missing out on something.

But that was the truth – I was missing out. I saw how he'd gaze at her when she wasn't looking, and how upset he looked when he overheard Mrs. Jones telling the cook about Simon Middleton's affections for her. There was even talk of marriage, and I couldn't help but feel horribly jealous that, not only did she have my love interest's affections, but someone like Simon Middleton's as well. I also felt terrible for a certain coachman as well, because I too know what it is like to have someone snatched away from you.

Christmas Day, he was gone. I do not know what happened, but the pain on her face was enough to know that something had happened between them. She gave me _The Odyssey_, the book he was teaching me to read, along with his apologies that he could not continue to teach me. Did he really only see me that way? As a pupil? Did he not know of my affections for him?

I have not seen him since. Sometimes I wonder if he will turn up where she is again. Perhaps they will reconcile with each other, if it was an argument that drove him away. Perhaps they will fall into each other's arms as lovers. They do make such a mysterious couple. I torture myself with these thoughts.

She is back at boarding school now, though I no longer miss her, or rather, miss my imaginary friend. Why would she want him? Why would _she,_ a rich, pretty debutante, want _him, _an Indian servant, when she could have Simon Middleton, a rich, handsome English son of a viscount? They would make the ideal match, but instead she longs for what she cannot have, what most girls like her would never want. What is it about him that bewitches her? His eyes, full of mystery and longing for her? His hair, glossy and black, that practically begs to be touched?

Perhaps she too is less than fond of the English. Perhaps she longs for India, her home. Perhaps they did know each other, and have a bond that I cannot comprehend. Perhaps she is like me and just wants a taste of the exotic.

But unlike me, she savored it.

**Please review!  
LunaEquus**


End file.
